


On Eden's Watch (Rewrite)

by KaiosReins



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood, Assassins vs. Templars, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Making this up as I go along, Pieces of Eden, Protective Ezio Auditore da Firenze, R&R, Rewrite, Tags May Change, Time Travel, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29330286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaiosReins/pseuds/KaiosReins
Summary: We were bound by our loyalty to remain outside the war. Granted the task of protecting a dangerous artifact, we were told to simply sit by and watch as others shaped our world, and simply live with the consequences.Now, the Timepiece has passed to me. Now, everything changes.Standard time-travel fic, I guess.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Into The Light

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first dive into Assassin's Creed, and I'm still fairly new to the fandom so bear with me. More and relevant tags will be added as I go along, to try and keep from spoiling the details. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, am I starting over? Yes, indeed!  
> The original felt like it was just moving too slow, so even though I had a bit of an idea on where I was going, it was taking a lot longer than I wanted to get there. Not to mention, I just don't think it was interesting enough in the first couple of chapters to catch peoples' attention.
> 
> Hopefully, I've rectified that. If not, feel free to leave feedback.

I’ve lost Sean.

I have no idea how much time has passed. Trees stretch out towards the sky above me, and I can feel cold, damp earth under my back. Birds are singing to each other, but they’re not the bird songs that I know.

The last thing I remember was the family vault, the goddess Dalia and her warnings. I can remember fighting, unseen forces controlling my movements as I reached for the Timepiece…

Sean tried to help. He tried to pull me back. When I made contact with the Timepiece, his arms were around my waist, his hand wrapped around my arm, trying to pull me back. Then, the light engulfed us, the wind howled around us, and I closed my eyes.

Now, I’m alone.

Slowly, I pull myself up, trying to stretch out aching limbs. A glint of copper-gold catches my eye and I look down to see the Timepiece, laying in the brush. The glow has disappeared from the markings etched into the plates, and the thing looks like an innocent, if unnecessarily elaborate sundial. Three separate plates stacked on top of each other, and the triangular gnomon.

I stare at the thing for a few moments, before picking it up. It doesn’t seem special in any way. I wish I had some sort of bag with me, but I’m lucky to even be wearing normal clothing at this rate.

Slowly, stretching everything as I go, I struggle to my feet and look around. This doesn’t look like the kind of forestry I’m familiar with; it’s close, but… not _quite_ the same. There’s no gumtrees or paperbarks, nothing that I recognise.

I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end suddenly, and look around. Several birds take to the sky, crying out in protest, and I turn in their direction to see a stranger. Dark hair hangs to his shoulders, and he’s wearing what looks like poorly-made leather armour. My eyes are immediately drawn to the sword, sheathed at his hip, and the dagger tucked into his belt.

“ _E cosa porta un'adorabile signora così lontano nel bosco tutta sola_?”

I don’t recognise his words, but the way it rolls off the tip of his tongue, I figure he’s speaking either Spanish or Italian. I don’t know a whole lot of either language, but I do know the most important phrase of all. I blurt out the first one that comes to mind.

“Parlo Inglese?”

“ _Non parlo Italiano_?” He asks, his tone shifting as he moves closer. I get the feeling that he’s stalking prey, and take an involuntary step back, shaking my head.

“Non parlo Italiano,” I reply. _I don’t speak Italian._

“ _Come mai sei arrivato così lontano in Toscana senza parlare Italiano_?”

Toscana. Tuscany. That must be the area where I am. I try to remember where exactly that is on a map of Italy, but the only experience I have with the country is through the bloody _Assassin’s Creed_ video games.

He closes the gap between us, smirking as his eyes rake over my figure, reaching out towards my cheek.

“ _Una donna così bella, sarebbe un piacere accompagnarti in ... sicurezza_.”

His breath is absolutely _putrid_ , reeking of wine and something that can only be described as rotting meat. His teeth are more than slightly yellowed, some looking like they’ve rotted through the gums. He smiles at me, his eyes moving over me again as his fingers gently stroke my cheek.

“Sto bene, grazie,” I manage to say, gently pushing his hand away. I have no idea what he’s saying, but I don’t think I need his help. I move to step away, but he grabs my waist, pulling me closer.

“ _Per favore! Consenti a me e ai miei amici di ... aiutare,_ ”

_Please! Let me and my friends… help._

I hear soft snickering from around, and glance into the trees as more people begin to step forward. They’re all wearing ill-fitting, mismatched armour, and all seem to be carrying weapons.

I don’t like the look of this. I _really_ don’t like the look of this.

“Sto bene,” I repeat, trying to pull away, but Foul Mouth grabs my other arm, his attention suddenly drawn to the Timepiece.

“ _Oh guarda, mi hai anche portato un regalo_.” His hand slides slowly down my arm, fingers curling around the Timepiece as he looks at me again. “ _Che gentile._ ”

“Non,” I tell him, shaking my head to reinforce the message. “This is mine.”

“ _Penso che avrò questo_ ,” he purrs, trying to pull it from my grip. His other hand shifts suddenly, slapping me on the arse. “ _E questo._ ”

“ _Fuck_ no,” I snap. Instincts kick in, and I jerk my knee up, catching him in the crotch, hard. He grunts, doubling over as I wrench the Timepiece away from his hand, but no sooner have I turned than I find four swords in front of me. His friends have closed in, and one of them pushes past the four with their swords out, snatching the Timepiece from my hands.

“ _Cazzo di puttana!_ ”

Ah. Finally, some Italian I _do_ understand.

Foul Mouth grabs a fistful of my hair, wrenching my head back as a foot slams into the back of my knee. I go down, but he hauls me up by the hair, slapping me across the face. I try to grab his hand, try to lessen the pain in my scalp, but it isn’t helping.

“ _Riportala al campo_!” Foul Mouth barks, “ _La scoperemo finché non implora la morte_!”

Implora la morte: Beg for death.

Foul Mouth must be the leader, and he throws me forwards so that I sprawl on the ground. Before I can recover, though, more rough hands grab me, hauling me up and I’m dragged along with the men, shoved around and jostled roughly. I don’t have a choice; I have to go with them.

We reach an area that looks like a camp, and my captors shove me so roughly that I stumble, hitting the ground again. One of them kicks me in the side, shouting something at me, but the only thing I understand is _puttana_ – whore.

Before I can even get to my feet, another man is grabbing at me, pulling roughly at my shirt. He grabs his dagger, slicing through the material, and stops to stare at my sports crop in brief confusion.

Brief confusion is all I need.

My knee works magic again, catching this new guy in the crotch as I snatch the dagger from his hand. Another pair of hands are on me in a second, but the dagger goes into the owner’s arm. Someone grabs my throat and I cut their wrist, pulling away. I feel a sharp pain in my side as I whirl around, but the man now in front of me stumbles back as I shove the dagger into his shoulder, and then wrench it sideways. I feel a spray of warm liquid, but shove him aside, and then I’m running.

Trees fly by on either side as I dodge around them, and I almost lose my footing on the slope as I fly down. I can hear the shouts behind me, the thumping of footsteps as they chase, but I’m taking the descent in leaps and bounds—

I spill into some sort of clearing, colliding with something _huge_ and falling. I hear the scream of a horse, swearing, and look up in time to see flailing hooves, falling back down towards me.

I roll sideways just before they hit the ground. I can still feel the cold steel of the dagger in my hand, and the ground underneath presses against my exposed midriff.

“ _Cazzo_! _Nipote, stai bene_?”

 _Fuck_ , more men! I roll to my feet and find myself facing an older man with a scarred face and one blinded eye. He reaches out and I thrust forwards with the dagger, only for him to catch my wrist, halting the dagger a few centimetres from his throat.

“ _Zio_!”

Another man, younger-looking, moves in quickly, wresting the dagger from my hand and shoving me away. I stumble, falling back against the horse that almost flattened me as the younger man moves forward. His eyes flicker over me as he takes in my appearance, holding up his hands.

“ _Calmati. Non ti faremo del male._ ”

He’s lowered his voice and makes no move towards me as he speaks, and my panicked brain somehow manages to understand one of his words: _calmati_. Calm down.

He still holds the stolen dagger, and as I hear the thundering footsteps approach, he looks up, past the horse, holding the dagger out to me.

I snatch it as I turn around, to see the bandits I escaped from pour onto the roadway. Instinctively, I take a step back, and the younger man moves forward as the bandits form a line across the roadway.

“ _Così gentile da parte tua_ ,” the leader comments, moving forwards and grinning with his disgusting teeth. “ _Per restituire questa ragazza che ho perso._ ”

The younger man looks back at me as the bandit gestures in my direction. I redouble my grip on the dagger, raising it slightly in warning to Foul Mouth.

“ _Penso che preferirebbe restare persa_ ,” he tells Foul Mouth, turning back to the bandits. Foul Mouth smirks.

“ _Non è una sua decisione da prendere_.” Foul Mouth replies. I take a step back and almost jump out of my skin as someone touches me, but I look around to see it’s the older of the two men. He pats me gently on the shoulder, trying to reassure me.

“ _Disperditi e ti lasceremo conservare le tue vite_ ,” the younger man says. The bandits laugh, and Foul Mouth turns to them, his arms wide as he gives them an order. I look back again, and over the older man’s shoulder I can see two archers moving into positions behind us. The older man seems to see it, to.

“ _Ezio,_ ” he says in warning.

“ _Li vedo, Zio_.”

The first of the bandits moves unexpectedly fast, diving towards the younger of my two rescuers with two more copying. I keep my eyes on the archers, one of them nocking an arrow and taking aim at the older man’s back as he moves forward. I act without thinking, without weighing the dagger in hand – I just throw it, overhand, at the first archer as I charge forward. The second is fumbling an arrow as I swoop down, wrenching the dagger from the throat of the first archer with one hand, knocking the second archer’s bow aside with the other hand, bringing the dagger up and shoving it into his stomach.

Warm liquid flows over my hand as I wrench the blade sideways, tearing through the man’s stomach, and he bends double, grabbing my shoulder as he stares at me in horror. I stare back, and for a few moments time seems to slow. His blood is pouring over the dagger, over my hand, _my_ hand, the hand holding the weapon that just bisected his liver. I stare at him, feeling the shock, the disgust, coursing through my own body as his legs give out and he tumbles to the ground, his own weight pulling him free of the dagger.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen death, but this… this is different. I look down at the dagger, at the blood covering my hand, my wrist, spattered across my own torso, flowing from the man’s abdomen as he gasps at my feet. His hands are pressing at the laceration, as if he can cram the blood back into his body, but those hands are flailing weakly, and after a few more gasped breaths, they grow still.

I stare down at this stranger, forgetting the fighting around me as I watch the light fade from his eyes.


	2. Homecoming

_“It wasn’t your fault, Lia,”_

_“I held the gun,” I said, staring at my hands. I expected them to be shaking. All the books, all the movies, everything that mentions this sort of thing always says how their hands are shaking. Yet mine… they were perfectly still. “I pulled the trigger. I…”_

_“If you hadn’t done it, someone else would have. It was a clean shot, you should be proud.”_

_“Proud of murder?” I turned to Tief, my boyfriend as I felt my throat close up, my eyes beginning to burn. The shakes began, but they went through my whole body. “I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt—”_

_Tief scooped me into his arms, pinning me to his chest as he cradled me. “It’s just a part of our lives, babe,” he said softly, “If we don’t get them, they’ll get us.”_

I jump at a light touch, whirling around with the dagger again, but the younger man catches my wrist again. He looks at me with concern, and I force myself to return to the present.

The archer wasn’t the first man I’ve killed, but he was the first man I’ve killed in such a close way.

“ _Stai bene_?” The stranger asks, searching my face. _Get it together, Lia,_ I tell myself, closing my eyes and forcing myself to swallow back the bile rising in my throat. Slowly, I try to nod.

I force my eyes open and look around the area. Bodies lay scattered, dark stains spreading across their torsos, spilling from their throats, armour sliced apart. The man in front of me is spattered with the same dark liquid that covers my hand, but he’s wiped it off his face, at the very least.

He shrugs out of his doublet vest, throwing it around me. It takes me a moment to remember that I’m exposed, and I look down to see that it has lacing down the front. Numbly, I try to do the laces myself, but fumble with them before he, hesitantly, reaches out and threads them for me, pulling the vest closed.

“ _Andiamo a Monteriggioni_ ,” he says, as I look up at him again. “ _Vorresti venire con noi_?”

I stare at him helplessly, brain working sluggishly through the shock as I try to remember Italian. “ _Parlo Inglese,_ ” I tell him, “ _Non parlo Italiano._ ” _I speak English. I don’t speak Italian._

His brow furrows, and he looks up at the older man, who seems to have settled himself on horseback again. “ _Zio, non parla Italiano. Inglese_?”

The older man shakes his head and gives a helpless shrug. “ _Mi dispiace,_ ” _I’m sorry._

I look around at the bodies, brain slowly working through the fog as I recall the other details of the past… what, half hour? I don’t know, suddenly. Time seems irrelevant.

Time. The Timepiece.

“ _Fuck_ ,” I hiss, moving away from my rescuer and walking among the bodies. Foul Mouth is there, and though I can taste my own bile at the thought, I crouch down and pat his pockets and pouches down. Nothing.

No, someone else had it. I look around, checking each of the bodies quickly, but all I seem to find are a few handfuls of coins.

Great. This is just great. I can feel myself shaking, hysterics finally setting in. I haven’t even been here for an hour and I want this nightmare to be over. I want to wake up somewhere else, _anywhere_ else, and find that this entire thing was just a fucking nightmare.

“Is this what you wanted, Dalia?” I demand, looking up at the blue sky beyond the treetops, “Throwing me here, taking my cousin away? Is this my _fate_? My _destiny_?”

I feel hands on me again and the adrenaline kicks in. I pull away, grabbing the wrist and twisting it, and he reacts like a fighter as well, pulling me in and pinning me against his chest.

“ _Calma, signora,_ ”

The voice is gentle, and he releases me quickly, moving to stand in front of me again. He has dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, with some loose strands hanging in front of his forehead, and gazes at me with dark brown eyes, that almost-black that only Italians have. He places a hand against his chest.

“Ezio,” he says, “Ezio Auditore da Firenze. _Amici_?”

_Oh for fuck’s sake._

Of all the places in all the worlds, of all the _times_ in all of existence…

“ _Amici_ ,” I nod slowly. I guess I don’t have much else of a choice. _Friends._ “You’re not supposed to exist, though.”

He doesn’t seem to care, because he just keeps on existing right in front of me.

“ _Nipote,_ ” the older man calls out. I figure that must be Mario, if this is really Ezio Auditore. “ _Dovremmo continuare se vogliamo tornare a casa prima che sia troppo tardi_.”

“ _Si, Zio,_ ” Ezio turns to me again, holding out a hand. “ _Vieni con noi. Ti aiuteremo_.”

Something something help you. I want to say no; I want to reject the offer, as if rejecting it will help me escape whatever the fuck this new reality is. But the stinging pain in my side and the drying blood on my hand serve as reminders: this isn’t a dream.

Dalia wanted me to come here for whatever fucking reason. Help the Assassins, she said. I guess the quickest way to get home is to just do what she wanted me to – and if that means going with this pair, then it looks like I’m going with this pair.

Ezio helps me up, situating himself behind me in the saddle and following his uncle, the horses basically ignoring the dead bandits we’ve left behind. After riding in silence for a few moments, Ezio pulls me back against his chest, shifting his grip so that I feel like I’m more secure in the saddle.

“ _Riposo, signora_ ,” he says gently, “ _Non ti lascerò cadere._ ”

I have no fucking clue what he’s saying, but as he begins conversing with Mario, the adrenaline crash, combined with the fatigue, and the deep, soothing sound of Ezio’s voice resonating through his torso, all cause me to drift off to sleep.

I wake to an explosive boom nearby, and the horse prances in fright. Ezio reins her in quickly while Mario laughs, and Ezio scolds him lightly as he checks to make sure I’m still secure.

I catch one of the words Mario says, looking up. “ _Cannoni._ Cannons,”

“ _Guarda chi e sveglio._ ” Ezio comments, sounding amused, “ _E anche giusto in tempo_.”

Before us is a walled town, and as we approach, people call out, greeting the two men happily as we pass through the main gate. The horses fall into single file as we pass through narrow streets, more people calling out happy greetings to both of the men – though Ezio seems to be receiving slightly more attention.

" _Sempre cosi popolare, Nipote_ ,” Mario teases as we approach a set of stone steps. I look around, recognising the streets of this town, the layout of the stairs before us as we approach. This is Monteriggioni.

A young woman is standing on the steps as both horses are reined in, and Ezio and Mario dismount as she moves forward to greet them. She stops, exclaiming in shock at sight of the blood on their clothing, but Ezio replies to her fluidly, gesturing in my direction. I figure he’s explaining the encounter on the road. I dismount carefully, swaying a little unsteadily once my feet are on the ground and I’m looking around.

“ _Che l’hai allora? La mela?_ ” The girl asks Ezio, who looks at Mario. He reaches under his travelling cloak and pulls out a small, spherical object which seems to be glowing slightly. I can’t help but stare at it, watching as the curved lines crossing it’s smooth surface glow with the same silver-white light that assaulted me in the vault.

I stare at it, and time seems to slow. As if projected from the device, lights appear all around, golden lines tracing runes, letters, symbols I faintly recognise but can’t quite recall what they stand for. They dance across my vision, mesmerising, enchanting…

Ezio grabs my outstretched arm suddenly, shaking his head with a look of warning at me. I realise I was reaching for the device, which Mario has tucked back into his shirt.

“It is a dangerous thing,” Ezio says, “Best to simply forget about it.”

He’s speaking English – or rather, I’m hearing English. His accent is very thick, but I can understand him all of a sudden. I look back at Mario, who is greeting the woman now, then back to Ezio.

“What is that thing?” I ask him, “It… it did something to me.”

“Claudia,” Ezio looks up at the young woman, gesturing to me. “Take her inside, help her get cleaned up. Summon a doctor if need be.”

I stare at Ezio as he speaks to his younger sister. His lips are moving, but the shapes don’t match the sounds that are coming out – like a video with badly-synced audio, or a foreign film with English dub.

“I don’t know if we have anything she can wear,” Claudia replies, and I stare at her as her mouth also does the bad-audio-sync thing. “I will look through some of my old things, though.”

I don’t know what happened suddenly, but I can understand them. Their accents are thick as anything, but I can understand them. I look at Mario, who is watching me carefully, hand tucked beneath his coat.

Claudia turns, taking my hand gently as she gestures for me to follow her. I glance back at Ezio, who nods with a gentle smile, gesturing for me to go with her.

Claudia leads me up two sets of stairs, into the courtyard of what I guess must be Villa Auditore. I have to stop and stare at the building for a moment, though; I can recall the scenery from the video games, but no amount of realistic rendering will ever be able to do this place justice.

Rose bushes and lilies flower in garden beds skirting the base of the walls, while flowering vines creep up tall trellises on the sides of the building. A fountain stands in the central part of the courtyard, water splashing over the two tiers and into the shallow pool at the bottom, which is lined with cobblestones. The afternoon sunlight strikes the sandstone walls, making the villa look a light reddish-tan, a colour that is very striking with the white columns and window frames.

Inside, the entry hall is just as grand, with white marbled flooring and columns, and a stone staircase painted in white and detailed in gold, sweeping up to the second floor mezzanine. I pause again, staring at everything, but Claudia pulls me along.

“There will be plenty of time for exploring and staring once you are cleaned up,” she remarks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been out with a cold the past week, then we had an event over the weekend. I'm planning to update this weekly, on a Sunday night (Brisbane time).
> 
> Feedback is always very appreciated <3


	3. The Kindness of Strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said weekly updates, but have a gift.

Claudia talks incessantly as she has me strip down so she can inspect my injuries. I didn’t even realise it, but I have several cuts and scratches on my skin, mostly on my arms and shoulders. The worst of them is a thin cut along my side, which I vaguely recall receiving while escaping the bandits. While servants hurry back and forth, ferrying water to the bathtub they’ve set up in this guest room, Claudia cleans out some of the cuts, before disappearing and returning with a bundle of clothing.

“Trust Ezio, of all men, to find a young woman in need of _his_ help,” she comments, rolling her eyes as she sets the bundle on the table, pulling a dark green dress from the pile, “Not even considering what might be needed for you. I haven’t worn this since I came into womanhood, but it should fit you fine,”

She also lays out a pair of baggy linen pants – braies, the Renaissance equivalent of underwear – and a silky chemise.

“You’re lucky I never throw these old things out,” she comments, “But if you intend to stay longer, we will have to get you fitted for a corset and brassiere. I wonder how old you are; you are so thin and small.”

“Twenty-seven,” I reply, forgetting that she can’t understand me. It takes me a moment to remember that Italy also uses Arabic numerals, and I quickly use the damp cloth to mark “27” on the wooden table. Claudia pauses, staring from the number to me.

“You… that is your age?” She asks. I nod. “You can understand me?”

I nod again, and she purses her lips. “So you _do_ speak Italian?”

I wonder if I should tell her my theory. Since the whole thing with Mario’s artifact, which I’m pretty damn sure is the Apple of Eden, I’ve been able to understand them – so I’m pretty sure it’s all connected in some way. I realise, though, that telling her might raise suspicion.

“Parlo piccolo Italiano,” I tell her, holding up my thumb and forefinger very close together. _I speak little Italian_.

She nods in understanding. “Uncle Mario brought a Spaniard friend here once, for a few weeks. He didn’t speak much Italian at first, and I didn’t speak much Spanish, but we learned enough from each other to understand. I suppose I will learn English from you, if you are to stay.”

I get the sense that Claudia is a social butterfly, but doesn’t have many girl friends her own age.

She leaves me alone to bathe, once the water is ready, promising to wait just outside the door. I peel off the remainder of my clothes, running over all the Italian I know and grimacing. Most of it is insults and endearments, which I don’t think would be appropriate in polite company. I can hardly run around calling everyone “my dear”, can I? I could have probably learned through context, but now that I don’t _hear_ their Italian, I don’t know where I might be able to pick it up.

The warm water stings the cuts, but I submerge myself anyway, rinsing out my hair as well before the water gets too foul. My mind is slowly working through my current predicament, as I slowly scrub at the congealed blood on my skin.

Every time I think about the encounter with the bandits, I feel bile rise in my throat and tears sting the edges of my eyes. It isn’t the first time I’ve been in a bad situation like that, but it is the first time I’ve been unable to talk my way out of it.

And it’s the first time I’ve stabbed someone…

I look down at the remnants of the stranger’s blood on my arm. I didn’t even think twice about the first archer, I just threw the knife and it got him right in the throat. I’d call it luck, personally – but the second man… I felt his body shudder, I saw his eyes widen in shock, his face twist with pain.

It reminds me of a different set of wide eyes, a different face twisted with pain.

I can’t stop the sob that forces itself out, and that single, shuddering sound is like a floodgate. Before I can fully process it, my head is in my hands, my mind full of everything that led to being in in that forest. Athair, Dalia, the Timepiece, Sean…

Oh god, Sean…

That wind howled around us, that light cut through us, seemingly for hours. Time seemed to cease existing while we must have moved backwards through it. And at some point, when the light faltered and the wind paused, I lost my grip on his clothing, I felt his arms disappear from around my waist. When I came to in the forest, I guess I just forgot about that.

Is he alive? Is he dead? Is he lost here, in this time but somewhere else? Or is he in some other time and place completely? How will I ever find him?

The water has turned a murky reddish-brown from the blood, but I bury my face underneath it anyway. I don’t know what else I can do at this point, other than just… rest, I guess. These people, these fictional beings who _apparently_ actually existed – or exist, since I’m sitting in their guest room – seem charitable and kind enough to at least look after me. I still have the coins I took from the bandits, not a whole lot but surely enough to help me get clothing. I still have the dagger, in case I need to fight off any trouble.

I lift my head out of the water, gasping for air as my mind clears. _You can do this, Lia. You’ve gotten through worse. Just take a breath and refocus on the problems._

The biggest problem right now is communication. I need to be able to talk to these people. Whether that means learning Italian or just finding a translator, it doesn’t matter and I don’t really care how – I just need to be able to talk to them.

Second, I need to figure out _when_ I am. Monteriggioni, Tuscany, Italy – I know that much, but what year is it? What month? What day?

Third, or maybe it should be second, I need to find the Timepiece. None of the bandits had it, which makes me think they might have left it in their camp – unless some of them broke away and fled with it. Either way, I need to figure out a way to track it down, and then do so. I can’t risk it falling into the wrong hands.

Definitely third, I need to find Sean. I can’t abandon him, in this life or any other. He’s fifteen, and sure he’s a physically fit and active kid, but it feels like a stroke of luck that I wound up stumbling into the Auditore men. I don’t want to place my hopes on luck every time, though.

I realise, if I’m going to have to traipse around looking for the Timepiece and Sean, I’m probably also going to have to get kitted up properly. Clothing should be easy, but weapons and armour… I don’t know what to expect when it comes to those costs. And I need to make sure I can use it properly. As we used to say at camp when my LARP group would argue about survival in a different era – performance combat, what we do, is vastly different to _actual_ combat.

I stretch out, trying to force myself to relax. I have something of a plan of attack, at least. The only thing that’s certain for now, is that I can’t go back. I can only go forward.

The bathwater is cooling by the time I climb out, and I dry myself off and dress before calling Claudia back in. She applies something that looks like honey but seems to be more fluid, talking all the while about Ezio’s conquest of women and how he hasn’t seemed to have the time to find her a suitor. She brushes out my hair and braids it, commenting on how soft the texture is. I don’t have the heart – or linguistic ability – to tell her that conditioner won’t be invented for another couple hundred years.

Once finished, at the sound of a bell elsewhere in the villa, she leads me outside to the terrace, where others are waiting for us and the table looks set for dinner. Mario beams as soon as he sees us, looking me over.

"I can hardly tell that this is the same girl we found this morning!" he exclaims, turning to Claudia, “Very well done. I trust she is in good health?”

“No need for the doctor,” Claudia reassures him as she leads me to a seat, “Though she might do well with plenty of food.”

I feel self-conscious about the commentary of my build. I’ve always had a fast metabolism, so no matter how much I eat, I don’t really gain any weight. That, combined with all the running and climbing I still do for fun, means that I’m often struggling to maintain a healthy weight – at the bottom end of the marker. While some girls of my time seem to idolise it, I hate it – I wouldn’t mind the idea of being a little more curvaceous, but instead I’m just a twig.

A strong twig, with lots of muscle, but still a twig.

“Ezio! See what Claudia has made of your little English girl?” Mario crows happily. He seems to be in good spirits now that he’s back home, and I can’t help but smile as he grins at me warmly.

“You’ve done well, sister,” Ezio smiles as well, but there’s something slightly different this time. As Claudia and Mario start to talk about something, Ezio catches my eye and winks, and I feel something flutter in my stomach at the attention.

Oh, hell no. I am _not_ interested in getting romanced. Not by you, not by anyone.

I barely notice what the meal is, finishing most of it before everyone else is even halfway through. Claudia insists I try the overly sweet wine Mario has brought out, and I simply sit and watch the family unit talking, swapping information, stories, jokes, and seeming to be quite jovial with each other. I don’t know when it would be polite to excuse myself, since they sit and continue talking long after the meal has been finished. I know I slept while travelling, but my limbs feel heavy and the wine makes my brain foggy. Eventually, Claudia notices my stifled yawns and excuses us both.

I don’t even have the energy to unlace the gown before falling into bed, weariness taking over.


	4. Foresight

_“What is it?”_

_“Your grandmother called it the Timepiece,” Athair said, approaching the pedestal behind me, “She would speak with someone else whenever she would come down here. Dalia, she said, an Isu who survived something called the Great Catastrophe.”_

_“This is too unreal,” I shook my head, hand hovering above the Timepiece. It sat atop a white stone pedestal, glowing faintly with silver-white light filling the inscribed runes. “This is, like,_ way _too much like the Assassin’s Creed games. Isu, artifacts, a catastrophe?”_

_“I don’t know about the games,” Athair replied, “But I assure you, we’ve never chosen any side in the underground war. Maybe we should have.” He turned and started back for the doorway, pausing to look back over his shoulder. “If Dalia will speak to you, she’ll only do so while I’m outside the room. I’ll be just over here if you need me.”_

_As soon as he set foot over the threshold of the room, the lines of light seemed to converge on a point in front of me, and an almost holographic image appeared._

_“Welcome, Tréitheach.”_

I wake, startled, to the sound of cannons. My heart leaps into my throat as I roll off the bed, lurching towards the nearest window and peering outside into the dawn light.

Another cannon sounds, and I see a plume of dirt appear in the countryside. The villa’s position atop the hill gives me an excellent view, and I can see that the surrounding Tuscan country is peaceful, quiet, serene—

_BOOM_

With the exception of cannons, apparently.

It takes my scattered brain a few more moments to remember yesterday as I sit down on the bed. The pile of clothes Claudia brought in for me still lays on the table, but the bath was removed and presumably emptied sometime when we had dinner, I guess.

I try to remember the games. Ezio’s trilogy is – or was – a staple to any fan’s collection, but _Assassin’s Creed: Syndicate_ was always my favourite. It takes me a few moments to recall the rough time period I’m probably in, and what might be happening next.

They have the Apple, and Mario and Ezio were returning from somewhere. I can’t remember if the cannons were part of the first game, but I know they were definitely a fixture by the time of the second.

Maybe there’ll be something around here that can tell me the year, at the very least.

I pull off the green dress and grab another, a dark brown, pulling it on and lacing it up my front. It’s probably a good thing that I’m virtually flat-chested, because this thing wouldn’t fit me otherwise.

Mario is in what I figure is the library, leaning on a model table while he talks with someone in artisan clothing. He shakes his head, but looks up as I enter.

“Ah, Meridia!” He cries gladly, “Good morning! I hope the cannons didn’t give you too much of a fright.”

“Jumped out of my skin,” I reply, before remembering he can’t understand me. I shake my head. Over dinner, someone asked my name and they must have confused my first name for my family name – they’ve started calling me Meridia, instead of Lillianna. I really couldn’t be bothered correcting them at the time, but now I regret it. I never had a great connection with my family, and the name is just a painful reminder of that.

I approach the table, which I realise contains a model version of Monteriggioni, walls and all. Some of the buildings are marked, and other models are positioned around the table – horses, cannons, soldiers.

“See here, _Messere_ ,” the other man comments, gesturing to two of the cannon placements, “These do not quite swivel to cover all the land between them. We should relocate one of these a little closer to the other…”

I look around the library, ignoring the conversation, instead taking in the sight of all the books and décor. Though this room isn’t exactly the same white marble as the entry hall, it is still painted white with marbled swirls of pink tracing through. Against the far wall is a medium-sized chest, locked at present, with several ledgers stacked beside it.

“No one will be stupid enough to attack this place now,” Mario’s statement catches my attention, and I turn to see the architect making notes about whatever was changed. My mind goes back to Cesare Borgia and his assault on this place – and realise that, according to the games, that was supposed to happen today. Could we have been blessed with more time?

“You need to send out scouts,” I tell him, moving towards the table. Where did the army come from in the game? “Out this way,” I gesture towards the south-eastern corner. Mario looks at me quizzically.

“ _Messere_? What is she saying?”

Oh right, the language thing. I grab one of the horse and rider figurines, moving it out to where I figure the hills are that hid the Borgia army from sight. “Scouts,” I say slowly, “Here,”

“No, no,” Mario laughs, taking the figurine from my hands, “Putting stables out there is pointless – there are too many rocky crags, most people travel through that place on foot to save their horses.”

“Not horses,” I reply, getting frustrated, “Scouts. Lookouts, people to report back if they see anything strange.”

“I cannot for the life of me guess at what she’s saying,” the architect mutters, “But I do not think she is suggesting a stables out there.”

Mario places a hand on my shoulder, smiling at my frustration. “Perhaps you are still a little tired, hm? You did have a rather exciting day yesterday, at least from what we saw.”

I pull away, noticing a few rolls of paper on the long desk and a quill. I’ve never used a quill and ink pot before, but there’s no better time to learn, I suppose.

“Perhaps she is writing,” the architect offers as he and Mario, now curious, follow me. I unroll one of the sheets, unscrew the ink pot lid, and dip the quill in. It can’t be that much different to using a fountain pen, right?

Unfortunately, it is. The ink runs out a lot quicker, so it takes me a few times before I can even mark the edge of the town, with an arrow marking “Monteriggioni”. Using what little I know about mapping, I mark a collection of hills, then add some X’s beyond them. An arrow points to them, and while I don’t know the word for “army”, I mark the best word that I do know.

“Borgia _mercenari_?” Mario asks, leaning over the page. “You mean the Borgia plan to mount an attack on us?”

“Cesare Borgia,” I say, nodding. He hums softly, thinking over this for a few moments.

“How do you know of this?” He asks suddenly, “And when will it happen?”

“ _Inglese_ ,” I reply. I don’t have the words to explain either of those things to him, at least not in Italian. Mario seems just as annoyed as I am at the language barrier.

“See if you can’t find someone who speaks English,” he tells the architect, “The sooner we can understand this girl, the better. In the meantime,” He looks down at the crude drawing, “We will send scouts out into the surrounding hills, daily, to watch for any impending threat. _Grazie_ , little one,” he says, patting me on the shoulder, “You saved us both yesterday with those archers, and you may have saved us once again.”

Is this what Dalia meant, about _changing that which is written_? I just have to try and avert catastrophe where I can? If so, that seems _way_ too easy. There has to be a catch.

“Now, Claudia has suggested you both go into town to get yourself fitted for some clothing,” Mario tells me, steering me away from the desk, “I have given her some florins for this, only don’t go spending all of it at once,” he chuckles, giving me a light push, “Go and see if she is awake yet; the sooner you have something to wear, the sooner she can stop complaining about how we took you in with no thought or preparation. Hers is the first door along the eastern hallway.”

That seemed to be the gist of her complaining last night, too. Well, at least she isn’t upset at _me_ specifically – I don’t really want to wear out my welcome too soon.

I find the right door – with the help of one of the house staff – and knock tentatively.

“Claudia?’ I call out.

I almost leap out of my skin as someone reaches past, pounding more heavily on the door.

“Claudia, what are you doing still abed at this hour? Your friend awaits.”

I turn to see Ezio grinning at me. “Do not mind my sister. She can be a little lazy sometimes.”

“I am not lazy, you _cretino_ , I am tired from working!”

Ezio and I both look up as the door opens and Claudia wrinkles her nose at her brother. “You are not coming with us looking like _that_ , I hope.”

Ezio is wearing a plain white shirt and vest, and I don’t see anything wrong with his outfit. Maybe I’m just not looking at it the same way as Claudia.

“What is wrong with this?” Ezio gestures to himself, “I see no reason to dress up in elaborate finery just for a walk through the town.”

“Of course _you_ wouldn’t see anything wrong with it,” Claudia shakes her head, rolling her eyes at the same time. “Have either of you had any breakfast?”

“Claudia…”

I can’t help but smirk as I look between the siblings. Claudia has a tough, stubborn exterior, probably from all her time working with managing the villa and finances – while Ezio is _clearly_ more easygoing and relaxed. I guess he can afford to be – it doesn’t look like he ever really goes unarmed, so if any issue ever did come to blows, he’s ready to go.

Claudia makes us sit down and have some bread and fruit, while she and Ezio catch each other up on the news of Monteriggioni and the rest of Italy. It’s interesting to me, to see how they interact – Claudia very clearly considers Ezio an equal, though his words and tone suggest he still sees her as his little sister and not a grown woman. Claudia seems to recognise this, too, and chafes slightly at the treatment, some of her comments about how _she_ runs the place coming off as slightly passive-aggressive.

“We will also have guests by the end of the week,” Ezio tells her, finishing off his juice. “I’ve asked the other Assassins to come here, so we can discuss what happened in Roma.”

“Roma,” I speak up, looking up, “Rome. Assassini – Assassins.”

Ezio is looking at me curiously, but Claudia waves a hand. “She does that for words she knows,” she explains to her brother, “I think she is saying the English word for it, and the Italian.”

“Italian, Italiano. English, Inglese.”

“See?” Claudia giggles as we make eye contact, “Come on, let’s get you something better to wear than my hand-me-downs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day early? Yeah why not.
> 
> Please drop some feedback if you have an extra couple of minutes.


	5. A Stranger In A Strange Land

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent way too much time researching Renaissance underwear for this chapter, please appreciate my efforts.

I’m not at all surprised by how happily the people here greet Ezio and Claudia, but I didn’t expect them to bend over backwards like they do.

“The finest silk, dyed in shades of the brightest blue you have ever seen!” The tailor exclaims, trying to persuade Claudia to order a new dress, “With the softest French lace you have ever felt, my lady!”

I think I’m the only one who notices Ezio’s jaw clench when the tailor makes a flattering comment about her bust. There’s nothing behind it, no innuendo or double meaning, but I guess he still sees her as his helpless little sister.

I end up with three dresses on order, some undergarments – mainly chemises, but after some insistence I manage to convey the need for underwear to Claudia. Apparently, braies are a “male undergarment” and “no woman of repute wears pants, save for… well, you know when.”

She blushes a bit when she makes this second comment. I guess the conversation about menstruation hasn’t changed much over the centuries.

I never thought it would be so difficult to buy pants, either. Claudia frowns against it, insisting that I am not a street urchin nor a thief, and there’s no need for me to dress as such. Ezio, thankfully, intervenes, speaking in favour of letting me wear whatever I want.

“She comes from another country, perhaps their customs are very different to ours,”

“She comes from England! How different can they be?”

“Have you _met_ the French? England is further away.”

“Australia,” I pipe up suddenly. “Vango dall’Australia.” _I come from Australia_.

“What is “ _Australia_ ”?” The tailor, who has returned with some soft coloured fabrics, asks me. I don’t have enough Italian to tell them properly.

“Molto molto… distance?”

“ _Distanza_?” Ezio asks. I guess that’s the right word for “distant”, and nod, gesturing towards him.

“Molto molto distanza.” _Very very distant._

“See? Perhaps it is common in her culture for women to wear pants,” Ezio turns to Claudia. I nod fervently beside him, grabbing another pair that are hanging on a hook.

“Molto normale,” I say, still nodding. _Very normal_.

“Well, I guess if you wish to look like a ruffian, I can hardly stop you,” Claudia snaps, “I know when _I_ am not needed. I will wait outside.”

“Claudia,” I try to call after her, but she ignores me, leaving in a huff. Great, I think I just alienated the closest thing I have to a friend.

“Don’t worry about her,” Ezio waves a hand, “Which do you prefer, linens or silks?”

Claudia is still annoyed when we step outside, her arms folded as she determinedly avoids looking at both Ezio and myself.

“I would advise you on shoes, but it might not be _culturally appropriate_ ,” she snaps, starting to stride away. Ezio rolls his eyes, but I start for her, grabbing her arm gently.

“Mi dispiace,” _I’m sorry._ “A lot of things here are different. Diversa. It’s…” I fumble, trying to find the right way to express this to her. The argument about underwear, pants – these are all things I never thought I’d have to argue with someone about. I let go of Claudia’s arm, pressing a hand to my chest. “Alien.”

“ _Aliena_ ,” Claudia corrects, before sighing. “I am sorry, too. I am just not used to many things beyond the cities here, and I know how other people gossip.”

“Amica?” I ask, holding a hand out. _Friends_.

“Of course,” she replies, smiling as she takes my hand. “Friends.”

We look back to see Ezio is a couple of shops back, standing at the front counter of a store marked _Fabbro_. Blacksmith. He is holding something small, frowning as he looks at it, and Claudia and I return to him.

“You don’t remember the man that gave it to you?” Ezio asks the blacksmith. The man shrugs.

“Looked like a mercenary, ill-fitting armour. Said if I could make something of it, he’d bring more – but if I can’t, just sell it on. Good morning, Lady Claudia,” he adds, nodding at Claudia and then at me.

“What is it?” Claudia asks, peering around her brother’s shoulder. “Ezio! That looks like—”

“I know,” Ezio quickly hushes her, and I notice him glance at the blacksmith. The man has turned back to something in his workshop, and isn’t paying much attention to the conversation.

“It looks like it came from a sundial,” Claudia comments, “Does it do anything? Like when you hold the… _other_ one?”

What are they talking about? I move around, looking from Ezio’s other side, and feel the pit of my stomach drop. That metal, those runes… I might have only known them briefly, but I’d recognise them anywhere.

Ezio looks over at me, still turning the gnomon in his hands. “That’s mine,” I tell him, trying to gesture, holding out my hand, “Let me see.”

“You think you know this?” Ezio asks, holding it up by the point. He drops it into my palm and I stare at it. I could be wrong, but I’m pretty certain that I’m not.

“This is mine,” I tell him, pointing to the gnomon then slapping my own chest, “It’s from my Timepiece! Where did you get it?”

“Calm down, Meridia,” Claudia says, smiling like someone would at an overexcited child, “We do not speak English, remember? We don’t know what you are saying.”

Pieces of charcoal litter one end of the counter, and I snatch one up, using it to draw on the wood surface. A stick figure, holding a round thing with a triangle in the centre of the object. I point to the stick figure, then to myself.

“That’s me,” I tell Ezio and Claudia, before pointing to the thing the stick version of myself is holding. “That’s the Timepiece. _Timepiece_ ,” I say more slowly, enunciating the word so they understand. Ezio nods slowly.

“ _Thyme-pees_ ,” he repeats. “It is yours?”

I nod, then draw another stick figure – this one with a mean smile. I add the rough sketch of the Timepiece to this figure, dusting it out on my own figure. “Banditos,” I point to the new figure, and draw an arrow pointing from stick-Lillianna’s hand to stick-bandit’s. “Took it from me.”

Claudia is still frowning, trying to understand, but it clicks almost immediately for Ezio as he looks up at me.

“Some of those bandits from yesterday fled,” he explained, “One of them must have had it, passed through here.”

I hold up the gnomon, then point to the triangle drawn on the Timepiece. “This is part of it,” I tell him. He nods.

“Yes, I can see. That was why you recognised the Apple yesterday, too, isn’t it? It’s the same type of metal.”

“Si!” I nod eagerly, holding up the gnomon again and pointing to myself. “This is mine.”

“ _Hey_! Why are you making a mess on my counter?”

Ezio acts first, putting an arm in front of me as he turns to face the blacksmith. “Our friend here was trying to ezplain. She doesn’t speak much Italian, but can draw, as you can see,” he gestures to the rude caricature on the counter even as I’m hastily trying to brush it off. Thank god this charcoal is some weak stuff – pretty sure I’d be in trouble if it left any permanent markings. “This thing, it was part of an heirloom stolen from her. Did your man have any other items of this same metal?”

The blacksmith is still scowling at me even as I blacken my own hands trying to rub away the charcoal. He grabs a cloth and hands it to me. “Use that. Clean your hands and my counter. And, yes,” he turns to Ezio, “Three circular items, like plates. He said if I could make something with the point, he’d bring the others to me for working as well. I don’t know how many others he might have promised the same to, though.”

“Did he mention where he was going?”

“No, only that he would return in a week’s time.” He looks at me as I use my nails to pick a few stray bits of black out of the wood grain. “You’re sure it belongs to her?”

“Meridia,” Ezio turns to me, “This… _Thyme-pees_ , what does it look like?”

“Wait, don’t draw on the bench again,” the blacksmith snaps, disappearing into his shop, He returns with a piece of slate and some chalk. “Use this.”

The image of the Timepiece is seared into my memory, and it takes me no time at all to sketch the three plates, both individually and all together, including the inscriptions. The blacksmith’s brow is furrowed as he watches, and I feel Ezio and Claudia’s eyes on me as well.

“That’s it,” the blacksmith says when I present the final sketch to him. “Three plates, all separated but able to be put together. Even the runes look familiar. This really is yours, then,” he gestures to the gnomon, which lays on the counter. “I had no idea it was stolen, the man only said he inherited it from his late grandfather.”

“I wonder how many others he has spoken with,” Claudia comments. It seems she’s been following along, keeping quiet. “Or where he might be in this week in between.”

“Uncle Mario said he was sending scouts out into the surrounding hills,” Ezio told her, “Perhaps one of them will come back with news to help our little friend.”

I hope he’s right. If I can get the Timepiece back, that’s at least one problem solved.


	6. In Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe this is a bit of a filler chapter, but it gives a bit of explanation as to what's going on. I hope.

_“What do you expect me to do about it?”_

_I looked around myself at the lines of light shifting and moving about the room. Here and there, they would converge, creating images of war, insignia that I recognised._

_“The Assassins have fallen, the survivors chased into hiding and hunted one by one. There is nothing to stop your Templar from inadvertently bringing about_ _the end of your world.” Dalia stated, her voice reverberating through the room. “You must go back, tip the scales in favour of longevity, and keep them that way.”_

_“Wait, wait, wait,” I held up my hands, “What about paradoxes? Wouldn’t changing the past change things in this time drastically? How would I get back home if that happened?”_

_“You have innate knowledge about controlling fates; this makes it clear that I have put my faith in the right person.”_

_“Dalia, answer me,” I called out, “What about paradoxes?”_

_“If an event is meant to be, then it will occur no matter how you try to subvert it,” Dalia stated, “If a person is meant to die and you protect them, then they will simply suffer a different death. If a war is meant to occur, you can only delay its beginning; you cannot alter the final outcome.”_

_“Then, by definition, isn’t this entire plan flawed?” I pointed out, “Going back, to try and prevent what’s already happened?”_

_“No,” Dalia appeared once again, leaning on the pedestal, “Because this was not meant to be. Your Templars have caused a tear, and if not rectified, this entire timeline – and all connected to it – will collapse.”_

_“And you think I'm the perfect person to change this?” I asked, looking at her._

_“Go back. Change the things that are not meant to be. Strengthen the Brotherhood, so that they might succeed where this one has failed.”_

The other pieces aren’t too far away, but they keep moving further and further.

I don’t know how I know this, it’s just… one of those things, I guess. Connected with my sixth sense. While I focus on the gnomon, I feel them, like bright sparks of light receding slowly from my reach. They’re all separate, moving in different directions, but they’re still out there.

I doubt they could be destroyed even if people wanted to.

The blacksmith said that he tried to heat it, to work with it, but the stuff just wouldn’t shift for him. Stronger than steel, apparently. He seemed glad to hand it over once learning it was stolen – he didn’t want to cause any trouble for himself by holding onto stolen property. And with Ezio right there, he could hardly lie about it.

“If it _is_ from a Piece of Eden, what do you suppose it does?” Claudia asks. I’m laying on a chaise in the library, while she goes over her books. Mario seemed pleased with my warning, and has apparently given me the run of the place for now, but I feel like I should earn my keep here; again, I don’t want to wear out my welcome too soon.

“It moves time,” I tell Claudia, knowing perfectly well that she can’t understand me. “I’m not sure how it works – Dalia made it work last time. But it can move you through space and time.”

“Could it be related to the sun?” Claudia asks, looking up at me, “It does look like a piece from a sundial.”

“Time,” I tap my wrist, the universal mime for the word I’m trying to convey. She frowns, tilting her head.

“Wrist? What about it?”

Oh. I guess wristwatches haven’t been invented yet. I point at the clock hanging behind her.

“Time,” I repeat, more slowly. Maybe…”Tempo?”

“Oh! Time! Wait, it has something to do with time?”

Good old music theory. When in doubt, trust musical terminology.

I nod, getting up from the chaise and tucking the gnomon under my shirt. We bought a long, thick chain to hang it from, so I wouldn’t lose it. I grab the piece of paper I sketched on this morning, for Mario, and start making another crude sketch – this one with the Timepiece hovering above a clock, with squiggly lines going from the Timepiece to surround the clock.

“It controls clocks?” Claudia asks, before her eyes widen, “It controls _time_?”

I nod, and she stares at me in shock.

“That must be a powerful thing,” she says in awe. I nod in agreement. She laughs nervously. “Well, it is a good thing we have found part of it – I am sure it will not work properly if parts are missing.”

I nod again. At least, I hope it doesn’t work when parts are missing. Immediately, I’m reminded of _Back to the Future_ , where Biff steals the DeLorean and visits his younger self, and the only way Marty and Doc find out is when they return to Marty’s time to find everything changed. It would really fuck up my day to wake up and find out that some idiot used the Timepiece and now we’re in the Dark Ages still.

“That makes it even more important we find these other parts, then,” Claudia says. “I wonder if we can ask the other Assassins to help.”

“Yes!” I cry suddenly, “That’s it! If we can track them down, using the Assassin network, we should be able to find the rest of the pieces in no time at all!”

It’s not like these things are locked away in a vault or anything, after all – if the bandits that have them keep flashing them about, it shouldn’t be difficult to find them. “We just have to get to them before the Templars,” I add, starting to pace. Claudia is staring at me with the indulgent smile again – though her expression changes slightly when I mention Templars.

“What do _you_ know of the Templars?” She asks. I pivot on my heel, turning to her.

“Templars are stronzo,” I tell her. _Assholes_.

“ _Templari,_ ” she corrects, nodding, “And yes, they are.”

“They’re going to end the world,” I tell her. I know she can’t understand me, but... I feel like I need to say it out loud. I've been unable to tell anybody the entire time I've been here, and it's like a weight on my chest. I return to the chaise and flop onto it; I guess therapy is now in session.

“The war will continue on for centuries, but by the year 2018, the Templars will have won. What’s left of the Assassins will have been in hiding for a few years by then, trying to use media to alert people to the truth of the world, using video games, comics, books, even a film – but it’ll all come to nothing.” I sigh. It’s good to say this out loud, even if she can’t understand me. “Templars will take over, hunt each person down one by one. And then, before 2030, they’ll destroy civilisation itself. Maybe even the world. All in the name of their new order,”

I feel my hands curling into fists as I think about it. For years, people always assumed that the shadowy, secretive organisations of the world were working together – but they were wrong. They were focused on the wrong groups. It wasn’t even the groups lurking in the shadows – it was the groups right in front of our noses, the corporate giants and political figures that were the real threat.

“We were too busy looking for the little details,” I say, shaking my head, “The brush strokes of a painting, the hidden subtext in a book – we were too busy focusing on those, we didn’t see what was right in front of our eyes. But by then, it was too late.”

“English sounds like such a strange language,” Claudia replies, shaking her head as she looks back down at her ledger. “So many stops and starts, so staccato and guttural, yet also fluid. I doubt I shall ever learn enough to be fluent.”

I look over at her as she continues on her work, feeling the weight returning to my chest. It felt freeing to say all of that to her, but now… now, the hopelessness of my own time is highlighted. I pull the gnomon out once again, looking at the light reflecting off it.

“I can’t do anything here,” I say out loud, mostly talking to myself. “None of you understand me, so how am I supposed to help?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we're getting a bit more backstory, where do you think things will go from here? I like to hear theories - I already know where this is going, but it's interesting to see where others see it leading as well.


End file.
